The Lady and the Lawman

by Jennifer Zane

  He held out his hand. She resisted and kept her hands in her lap.

  “Starting now, you will do as I say. In everything you do. Do not think Masterson is coming after you. He is dead. Gone from your life.”

  “He's not dead. There's no chance you, Dalton, or anyone else could kill him. He's coming to rescue me. I'm his wife and will never be yours!” Margaret, although unsure of any kind of rescue, put on a façade of strength. She was Grant's wife in her heart.

  William used the hand he held out to her to slap her across the face. The strike was so violent, she fell back onto the bed, stars spinning in front of her eyes. Stunned, she lifted her hand to her cheek and tears welled in her eyes.

  “Take the hand I offer, Margaret, or I promise I will make your life a living hell.” He was furious with her defiance, and she knew his patience was worn thin.

  She didn’t have a choice, did she?

  She lifted her chin and took his hand. Her cheek stung from his strike, but she ignored the pain and let him drag her out of the dark, musty room and into a kitchen. The room was large and immaculate, and she could tell from the large work surfaces, butcher block and ornate fixtures that this was an impressive house. William turned and led her up the back servant stairs, to the second floor. As he directed her to a bathroom with a large tub in the middle of the room, she couldn't help but feel exhausted and filthy.

  The possibility of William drowning her in the tub was real, although she quickly ruled it out. He needed her alive in order to marry her. As long as they weren’t wed, she’d have a fighting chance. She had to cling to that as some shred of hope.

  “You have an hour. New clothes are on the stand there. Be ready for dinner when I return.”

  She gave William a look that shot daggers. He saw it and commented, “Don't push me. That slap was nothing. I've been more than a gentleman with you. Don't think I wouldn’t just take you to my bedroom and have my way with you.”

  He closed the door behind him and turned the key in another lock. She spun from the door to look at her surroundings. They were much improved from the room downstairs. White tiles covered the floor, with ornately carved walls.

  Seeing a window, she dashed to it, circumventing the large tub. There were shutters covering the lower portion for privacy. Opening one, she looked out to complete darkness. It must be late, at least ten at night. There were no buildings she could see. The glass was backlit with the illumination from the lantern. Not knowing where she was did nothing to comfort her.

  The connection William had with Dalton caused her to assume she was in Dalton’s home, although she didn't know where it was. Grant had never told her the location of his land or home, but assumed it was in the vicinity of town. Tom’s land, she knew, took up most of the area to the north and west of the town, so there were only two other directions she could be. But knowing this didn't make a difference, since no one knew where she was. She looked to the tub and decided to give in to her basic needs. Stripping off her dirty dress, she climbed in and savored the scented hot water.

  She was bathed and dressed, ready for William's return after an hour. He held the door open for her dressed in a traveling suit, a dark gray tweed.

  “You clean up quite well,” he commented, taking in her new attire. “I couldn’t have you looking like a street urchin on our travels. My future wife must look worthy of my attentions, don’t you think?”

  She wore a crisp white blouse with a navy skirt. If her situation were any different, she would be pleased with the new wardrobe. As it was, she barely gave the new clothes much thought.

  “We’re leaving now?” She gulped back her concern, hoping her voice didn’t give her away. If she left Cranston, surely no one would be able to find her.

  “We need the protection darkness offers. Now my dear, I’m afraid I can’t trust you to remain quiet. As I said before, you slipped away from me once. I’m not going to let that happen again.”

  It took her only a moment to know what he meant. She backed away from him, putting the large tub between them. “You’re not touching me!”

  “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Bumps on your head will fade quickly enough.” He replied so calmly, as if he wasn’t talking about striking her unconscious. He walked toward her around one side of the tub and she took the opportunity to sprint the other way past him, through the open door.

  ***

  The horse sped across the grass as quickly as he could. They paralleled the road, its rutted surface dangerous for the animal at such great speeds. In the distance and fast approaching, there was another rider heading toward him. Grant easily recognized the woman quickly enough, her flaming red hair vivid even against the dark sky.

  “Rose, what are you doing out here?”

  “I was coming to find you. People in town saw you heading toward your brother’s ranch. I have news,” Rose patted her mount’s neck as she told him the events inside Croft’s the previous night.

  “So Dalton’s plotting my demise, is he?” he asked, not too surprised.

  Rose nodded, then continued. “Sounded that way. A man, never seen him before, bragged how he’d get a large bounty when you ended up dead.”

  “How did you tie him in with Dalton?” he wondered.

  “That was easy. He was with Dalton’s usual brood. Once I heard about the trouble he was going to raise, I plied him with a large amount of Jimmy’s whiskey. Before long, he was ready to take matters upstairs.” She sighed. “The man was too far gone to do more than flap his gums, if you know what I mean.”

  He did, but he remained quiet, waiting for her to continue.

  “I asked him some questions. He said Dalton wanted you dead and brought to his ranch. In that order.”

  “Did he say when he was going to carry this off?”

  “Sure did. He blabbered he was going to do it sometime today. That’s why I had to find you as quick as I could.”

  “I’m much obliged. You haven’t by chance seen Maggie, have you?”

  One hand covered her ample bosom. “What’s happened to Margaret?”

  He looked down at his hands on the pommel of his saddle as he spoke. “Haven’t seen her since this morning. I went to Croft’s for some information about a shooter—”

  “A shooter? You mean the same man?”

  “Could be. Didn’t get a look at him with the bullets raining down on us.”

  “Dear lord!”

  “Maggie wasn’t at the house when I returned, and I thought she might have gone to Tom’s. She’s not there and I’m sure something’s happened to her.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  It seemed he could read her thoughts. “Nothing. I don’t want to stick my nose in your business, but I would guess there’s not too much back in town for you. I’m sure Croft wouldn’t take kindly to one of his women, if you beg my pardon, walking out on him. Why don’t you head out to Tom’s and stay there for a bit. I know he won’t mind.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you. Thank you.”

  Her hesitation showed on her face and in her body. She was tense, nervous for once. She could handle every low life in town, but it surprised him she was afraid of Tom.

  “I’ll escort you to the ranch and you can share with Tom what you told me.”

  After only a moment's hesitation, they returned to the ranch to make plans, enlisting Tom.

  Tom helped Rose down from her mount when they rode up. Their eyes met and locked for but a moment before Grant broke their gazes.

  “We've got trouble. More than I thought. Let's get some coffee. Rose, you can fill Tom in, then we'll make plans.”

  Tom took Rose's hand, smiled down at her, and planted a solid kiss square on her mouth. “So much for being honorable. Got a problem with that?”

  Stunned, Rose just stood there and shook her head.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Tell us the story again and don’t skip a single detail,” Grant said, looking to Rose across the table. It wa
s difficult to sit still, eager to begin his search for Maggie. Something in Rose’s story would be a clue to finding Maggie, and that’s what kept him in his seat.

  “I was working my usual shift at Croft’s,” Rose said, looking down at her hands. The shame of her profession reddened her cheeks.

  “I’m sure I can speak for Grant when I say we don’t care you worked at Croft’s. You’re away from there now, which took a wagonload of guts. You have information that could save Grant’s life—and find Maggie,” Tom reassured.

  Tom’s words seemed to have comforted Rose. She lifted her chin and continued. “I overheard a conversation at one of the poker tables. I recognized the players quick enough as Dalton’s men. There was one man I’d never seen before, but he acted as though he was with them.”

  “What did he look like?” Grant cut in.

  “Dark hair, probably late twenties, maybe thirty years old. He was very dark, lots of sun. His clothes were old and frayed, but he was clean, like he had a bath recently. He was friendly enough with the other men, and I’d guess they’d met before.”

  “Go on.” Tom put a plate of leftover biscuits on the table, but no one made a move to take any.

  “They were talking about business being taken care of and said Dalton would get even. Well, that didn’t sound too good to me, so I joined them. A woman can sit and listen in on conversations as if we don’t exist. Those men have three things on their minds, drinking, gambling, and women. I was able to join their group and listen to the mens’ stories. None of them certainly took the time to think I have a brain in my head.”

  She was right. Most men who spent their evenings at Croft’s only took interest in women for one thing, and that wasn’t conversation. Rose would be the best person to slip in and listen to a conversation unnoticed. He looked over at Tom and saw him watching Rose closely. He could read his brother’s mind like an open book by his changing expressions. Tom clearly cared for Rose and was having a difficult time with her taking chances with men like Dalton’s.

  “They didn’t say too much more about it, but I worked my wiles, if you know what I mean.”

  He knew, and he had not doubt his brother did, as well. Not knowing what to say, they both nodded.

  Rose continued, “I got the one who was doing most of the talking, the one I’d never seen before, to go upstairs. He was pretty drunk to begin with, but I got more information out of him with a bit more whiskey and lots of flirting. He told me, between shots, that Dalton paid him to take care of the sheriff, and he didn’t mean wash his clothes.”

  “Did he say anything about Maggie?” Tom asked.

  Maggie! Grant stood up so quickly his chair fell backward. He started pacing the room.

  “Are you thinking Dalton’s got Maggie?” Rose questioned Tom across the table.

  “He’s either got her or knows the person who does,” Grant offered. “They’re luring me out, knowing I’ll search for her, so they can pick me off. That’s about right, isn’t it, Rose?” He turned to face her.

  “Well, based on what the drunk said, they want to kill you. He did say something I don’t understand. He said, 'I missed him once, I won’t do it again.' Something like that. Make sense to you?”

  Grant knew exactly what the man meant. When they were shot at in town, they weren’t aiming at Maggie, they were aiming at him.

  “Now whether Dalton’s using Maggie to draw you out, I really couldn’t say. The man never said anything about her, and when you told me earlier she was gone, it was a surprise to me. All the same, it did look like I ran into you just in time.”

  Tom reached and pulled Rose’s hand into his. He looked at her and beamed a reassuring smile.

  “I’m so worried about Margaret. What are we going to do?” Rose asked, sadness easily read in her eyes.

  Grant continued to pace the kitchen, his mind a blur of thoughts, trying to think things through. Running his fingers through his hair, he turned to his brother and Rose.

  “Rose, you’re going to do nothing. You’ve already helped more than you know. You stay here at the ranch out of trouble. Tom, you’ll need to stay here and manage things. I’m going to find Maggie.”

  “What about the person who’s trying to kill you?” Tom asked.

  “The way I figure it, they want me to go into town looking for her. Whoever this man is, he must only flap his gums when he’s drunk. Dalton’s made him the fall guy, and Dalton will deny knowing him once the deed is done. I’ll worry about him when the time comes. In the meantime, I need to find Maggie.”

  “Sheriff, where do you think she is?”

  Before Grant could answer, Tom spoke. “He’ll go after her, wherever she is, for she’s got his heart. And now it seems you’ve got mine.”

  ***

  Grant searched Cranston as if he were looking for a needle in a haystack. With no clues to Maggie’s whereabouts, and darkness having set in hours before, he resigned himself to return home and sleep, ready to continue his search in the morning. Sleep would have been a blessing, a temporary reprieve to his horrible worry, but it was impossible with her scent on the sheets and in the air, a constant reminder as he lay in bed.

  A noise, subtle as it was, pricked his senses. At first it sounded as if a tree limb was scraping against the side of the house. Then the not so subtle sound of broken glass reverberated through the small bedroom. He climbed from bed, grabbed his gun and moved to stand behind the closed door. And waited.

  As the door slowly opened, he could see a gun pointed directly at the bed. Little did the man know he was dead in Grant’s sights. As the man slowly entered the room, Grant took a silent step behind him and placed his gun to the back of his head just below his hat.

  “Don’t move.”

  The stranger lifted his hands toward the ceiling, gun slack in his grip. With his free hand, Grant took the gun away.

  “On your knees.”

  An audible gulp came from the man as he lowered himself to a kneeling position. Grant moved to light the lantern, keeping his gun trained on the intruder.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  The man remained silent.

  “All right, I’ll talk.” Grant sat down on the edge of the bed, uncaring he was naked. His gun never wavered from its intended target. “You’ve been hired by Dalton to shoot me dead.”

  Grant paused, letting his words sink in. “I can tell from the look on your face I’m fairly accurate. I have a witness that has you pulling the trigger that killed the stage driver.” It wasn't true, but it might get the man to talk.

  “Now hold on!” The man’s hands were still up, but his palms opened as if to signal Grant to stop.

  “Oh, so you do speak. We hang murderers around here. And, since Mr. Cawley was a dear friend of mine, leniency will not be an option.”

  “I didn’t kill no one!” The man’s voice boomed in the small room.

  “No, no. Hands back up. That’s right. I don’t take kindly to men who try to kill me in my own bed, either. It’s not looking good for you. You better talk now, otherwise I can get the judge to sentence you by noon tomorrow.”

  “All right. I’ll tell you. I only did what I was told.”

  He didn’t have enough brains between his ears to tie his shoes, so it had to be the start of the truth.

  “Talk.” He waved the gun at him, backing up his words.

  “What d’ya want to know?”

  “Who’s paying you?” He wanted confirmation of his thoughts. “Is it Dalton?”

  “No. Not Dalton.”

  He knelt down in front of the man in surprise, looking directly into his face. “You’re telling me the man who’s paid you to do this isn’t Dalton?”

  He was allowing the man time to recant before he punched him, sure the man was lying.

  “I’m telling you, it wasn’t him. He’s knows about all this though, ‘cause the meetings took place at his ranch. But the man who gave instructions and paid me wasn’t him.”

  “Who
was he?” Grant shoved his gun into the man’s chest.

  “I don’t know who he was. I swear I don’t. I’d never seen him before.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  The man looked ready to cry. “Look, I’m telling the truth. I’d never seen him before.”

  “Describe him.”

  “He was tall, but not your height, scrawny. He dressed real funny, stuffy like, and told me never to touch your wife or hurt her, but only to scare her.”

  “What’s his name?” Grant asked, trying to think of men who fit the description. Only one man came to mind, but was stunned at the thought and had to be sure. More pieces fell into place.

  “He never told me his name, but the other men referred to him as Hunt.”

  Grant swore under his breath. “You came here and kidnapped my wife?”

  The man shook. “Yes. I saw you leave so I knew she was alone.”

  Grant was ready to kill. He’d all but admitted he’d taken Maggie, not once, but twice. Unfortunately, he needed more information. “You took her to Dalton’s?” The man nodded. “Then what?”

  “The man you’re askin’ after paid me. He said next I was to kill you.”

  “I'm sure you didn’t go to Hunt alone. How many of your friends know details about what this man planned on doing with my wife?”

  “The other men from the stage are dead. Killed. I swear I'm not one of them. Hunt told Dalton she was goin’ to stay there at Dalton’s for a day, long enough for me to kill you. But you’ve been hard to kill, and it took me longer to track you down.”

  “What happens after you supposedly kill me?”

  “After that, the man said he was taking her back home. Now I’m not sure where that is, and that’s the truth.”

  He knew the bastard wasn’t lying. The puzzle now fit. Ever since he threw Hunt off Tom’s land, he must have stayed in town, scheming up a way to have him killed and to get Maggie he’d wanted back. The bastard somehow had run into Dalton, and Grant was sure Dalton would be up for a way to bring him low. He’d also expressed interest in Maggie since the night at Croft’s, so he knew there was double pleasure in this whole scenario for him.