by Shirl Henke
"That Frenchie?" Tate asked, scratching his head. "What the hell would she have to do with the rustling?"
"That's what I mean to find out. You take Lissa and Johnny home. I want her safe at the ranch—away from Germaine Channault. I'm going to go have a little talk with Madame Channault—and see if I can drum up some more men here in town to ride with us."
"No one would before," Shannon said disgustedly.
"That was before Cy Evers owed Lissa and me each a favor," Jess replied enigmatically.
"When you get to J Bar, have Moss and whoever he can muster start rounding up all the steers they can save." He returned to the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
Lissa, who had hastily donned her robe, sat nursing Johnny. She looked up with a worried expression on her face. "What's happened?"
"Another raid on J Bar cattle. Tate's going to take you back to the ranch. I have some business here in town." He debated telling her he was going to confront Germaine.
"What business, Jess?"
Reluctantly he admitted, "I'm going to have a little talk with Germaine before I leave Cheyenne. Can you think of any reason she'd be involved in this mess?"
She shrugged helplessly. "She always hated me—ever since I was a child. I never understood how much until after she learned about us. I think she's dangerous, Jess."
He quickly donned the rest of his clothes and strapped on his gun. Looking up grimly, he replied, "I doubt I'll have to shoot her, Lissa." He bent over and kissed her lightly. "Tate will be waiting outside for you and Clare as soon as you're ready."
"We'll only be a few minutes," she replied. "Be careful ... I love you," she added softly as he slipped through the door.
When Jess was gone, a trembling Lissa sat down to calm her fretful son and finish feeding him. She called out for Clare to begin packing. Within half an hour they were on their way back to J Bar with Tate Shannon.
Jess went to Abney's Livery to get Blaze, then rode over to the Cheyenne Club for a talk with Cy Evers. As luck would have it, the old man was just walking to the club's private livery to get his horse. He turned as Robbins dismounted near the path.
"You're out early after a late night, Robbins," Cy said shrewdly, waiting for Jess to explain his reason for the unexpected visit.
"I just received some bad news." He quickly explained about the scattered herd and the need for haste rounding them up. "J Bar stands to lose over a thousand head if I can't get Moss Symington some help."
"Someone seems to have it in for the brand," Cy said, scratching his head. "I'd opine they just had it in for you, 'cause of Lissa and all, but hell, this started afore Marcus ever sent for you."
"That's what I figure, too." Jess related the information Cammie had given him, then added, "I thought someone from the Association might be involved."
Evers's keen brown eyes studied Jess. "You mean Lem Mathis, I reckon. Damned if I kin believe that. Even though he did have a rightful grudge agin you."
"I'm not accusing him yet—but I need help to save those beeves while I do some more investigating." Jess's eyes met Evers's levelly.
The old man sighed. "You know I owe you for last night—Lissa, too, for saving Dellie. I'll send a couple dozen Diamond E hands to give Moss some help."
"I'm obliged, Evers." Robbins nodded and mounted up as the old man vanished inside the immaculate livery stable.
Jess headed across 17th Street up to 16th, where the Inter Ocean Hotel was located. Germaine had been staying there since she had been discharged from J Bar. The hotel lobby was surprisingly well appointed. At first Jess was taken aback, but remembering what Lissa had told him about the generous bequest Marcus had left the old harridan, he imagined she was enjoying being waited upon.
The clerk eyed his gun nervously. "Mornin'. You lookin' for a room?" he asked suspiciously.
"No. A roomer. I understand Madame Channault lives here." He waited for a reaction.
The clerk hesitated a moment, then shrugged. "Room 17—at the back end of the hall next to the fire door."
Jess quickly made his way upstairs and knocked on the door. No answer. He tried the lock with no success. Looking up and down the hallway, he pulled an eagle feather from his hatband and used the stiff quill to poke inside the lock. After a moment's experimentation, it clicked open and he slipped inside.
* * * *
With mixed emotions, Lissa watched the big white ranch house come into sight. It was her home and her prison, a beautiful gilded cage that symbolized everything tearing her and Jess apart.
If I were an impoverished seamstress like Clare Lang, he'd take me to Texas with him in a trice.
But she was the heiress to her father's empire. Most successful cattlemen scorned the label of "cattle baron," yet that was exactly what they were—absolute rulers commanding hundreds of thousands of acres. J Bar with all its holdings was larger than some European nations and even a few eastern states. And Lissa Robbins wanted no part of it because she and Johnny would hold it at the cost of Jess.
She could see Cormac break away from the men at the corral and bound toward their wagon, barking a joyous welcome.
Shannon stopped the spring wagon in front of the big house and helped her and Clare down, saying, "I'll unload the wagon."
"No, Tate. I know how badly you need to get every man out after those beeves. We can always get the trunks unpacked," Lissa replied as she greeted the hound's exuberant welcome. "You go ahead." Once Cormac had calmed, she turned to Clare and took Johnny from her.
Tate tipped his hat to her and Clare, then untied his horse from the rear of the wagon, mounted, and rode toward the far corral where the men had gathered, awaiting instructions.
Lissa walked to the porch, holding the baby. She watched with a worried frown as the men listened to Shannon and Symington issue orders. Then they all mounted and headed north.
"I pray Jess can bring some Diamond E boys to help," she said to Clare. As they entered the front door, the dog let out a whine, tail wagging. "No, you rascal. Come around to the back and I'll let you in the kitchen—where you can do the least damage," she added with a grin.
The dog bounded from the porch and headed toward the back door at a swift trot.
"I do believe he understands every word you say," Clare said in amazement as they stepped into the dim hall.
Suddenly Cormac started barking at the back door. Lissa blinked, letting her eyes grow accustomed to the interior after hours of riding in the brilliant sunlight. "That devil certainly is impatient." She handed Johnny to the maid. "I'd better go let him in."
She had taken only a few steps when a dark figure materialized from behind the draperies in the parlor and stepped into the hallway, blocking her path. "You will remain inside and make not a sound if you wish that mongrel bastard to live," Germaine Channault said in her heavily accented English. A .36 caliber Colt Brevite gleamed in the dim light as she leveled it on the terrified maid holding Johnny.
Chpter Twenty-Five
Lissa stepped back, placing herself between Germaine's gun and Johnny. "We know you're involved with the rustling. What are you doing here?" She struggled to keep her voice level.
The glow from the old woman's black eyes blazed with mad triumph. "I am taking what should rightfully have been mine twenty-five years ago."
"What she means, dear sister, is that I'm claiming my birthright now that I have the guns to break J Bar."
Lissa whirled around with a gasp and faced a tall, broad-shouldered man descending the stairs from the darkened landing. He had tan hair, light hazel eyes, and a cruel smile twisting his well- formed lips.
"Sister?" she echoed, backing away from him toward Clare and the baby.
"Your father was my lover in St. Louis, long before he married Mellisande Busch. I bore him a son, an heir—something that pale little nothing could never do. All she ever gave him was you." Germaine's gun hand shook as she spilled out her venom.
Lissa tore her eyes away from the twisted vis
age of the old woman to look at the man who was supposed to be her half-brother. His features were regular and strong, but bore no particular resemblance to Marcus's, nor did his coloring. Before it grayed, her father's hair had been quite dark, as was Germaine's. Some man had given her son much fairer coloring.
"I don't believe you. Why would my father refuse to claim a son when he wanted one for J Bar so desperately?"
"He was blinded by the pedigree of that society bitch he married. I was only a poor serving girl who came from Quebec, looking for honest work. I met your father when he came to St. Louis on business." Germaine could see the look of contemptuous disbelief in Lissa's wide gold eyes—her mother's eyes. "I was not always old and haggard. Life has been harsh for me and I have suffered, but once I was comely enough to catch Marcus's eye, even if he was faithless. He tired of me when I was heavy with his son. He'd met your rich mother by then," she said spitefully.
"He would have acknowledged his own child," Lissa replied, "certainly after my mother died if not before—"
Germaine cut her off with a coarse French oath. "He claimed I had other lovers—that Marc did not resemble him. He was a fool to hope your mother would give him sons."
"After I was born," Marc said, "my mother followed the old man to Wyoming. He wouldn't accept her bastard. Afraid your fancy mother might suspect. He agreed to hire her as housekeeper—but only if she sent me to live with relatives in Quebec. I've been on my own since I left them when I was fourteen," he said with an accusing look at his mother.
"I did what I could—sent money when you wrote me from Nebraska. I had to do as Marcus wished or we would have lost our chance for everything—the ranch—"
"My father made you a generous bequest. Now I see why. But he left the ranch to me. There's no way you'll ever get it." Good Lord, did they plan to kill her and Johnny in some insane scheme to inherit?
Marc Channault laughed, a harsh rasp that made Lissa flinch. A terrified Clare tried to quiet the fretting baby.
"Oh, we'll get it, all right, little sister. And we have just the ticket right here to guarantee everything." He reached out and rubbed Johnny's dark hair with a callused hand.
Lissa's heart froze. Forcing down the terror that clawed at her, she said, "If you harm him—"
"Oh, wouldn't dream of it, Sis. Wouldn't dream of disturbing a hair on his head." Marc chuckled.
"That filthy mongrel—the son of a savage, and still your father would not disinherit him for his own white son," Germaine spat in a choked voice.
"Now calm down, Maman, dear. You're frightening my little sis here. All we're going to do is keep the boy here at the ranch, as a sort of guarantee that you'll behave when you and your long-lost brother go to town and meet with your lawyer.
You're going to sign over half the ranch to me. After all," he shrugged, "it's only fair."
"You're mad!" The minute the words escaped her lips, Lissa regretted them. His light eyes had the same eerily feral gleam to them as Germaine's black ones. "I—I mean no one would believe it, least of all Judge Sprague." And Jess won't let you do this!
"If you wish your son to live, you will convince the judge and everyone in town that Marc is your half brother." Germaine's voice was lethal.
Marc put one big hand around Clare's thin arm and shoved her firmly into the parlor. "Let's all get comfortable. Might as well, seein' as we're all going to be living in the same house from now on."
"You can't just hold us prisoner here," Lissa protested as Germaine approached her with the pistol aimed at her chest.
"We will wait in the parlor," the old woman purred, her mercurial mood shifting again.
"Wait for what?" Lissa asked with dread as she sank onto the sofa beside Clare and the baby.
"Why, for my men to report to me that you have become a widow," Marc replied genially as he walked over to the parlor window and looked out at the road.
"You can't kill Jess! Better men than you have tried and failed," she said with far more bravado than she felt.
"My men are good—and greedy. I promised a five-thousand-dollar bounty to the man who brings me that fancy .41 caliber Colt Lightning of his. See, I had my men run those cattle as a sort of decoy to flush Robbins out and separate him from you.It worked perfectly. Maman and I waited in town until we saw you leave. Then we rode ahead to be your welcoming committee here."
"You were the one all along trying to break J Bar—to run my father out of business." Lissa was terrified and baffled at the same time. Jess, you've always beaten the odds. Oh, please!
"If he would not give me the ranch, it was only just that I deprive you of it." Germaine said. "Always I kept searching for a way to reclaim Marc's birthright. Then when Marcus died, it occurred to me that you would do anything for that half-breed's brat—even give my son what is rightfully his."
"The rustling provided me with some pretty easy cash money before that," Marc added cheerfully. His grin turned to a scowl. "Before Robbins shot up Conyers and his gang. It's taken me a while to find more good men."
"But now our plans will finally come to fruition." Germaine's malevolent eyes narrowed on Johnny. "Once that half-breed trash is dead."
Lissa shivered and fought the urge to take her son in her arms. She must stay unencumbered so she could act when an opportunity presented itself.
"It doesn't matter now, Maman. Robbins'll be pushin' up daisies real soon," Marc said nonchalantly.
"Don't count on it," Lissa replied quietly as Johnny began to whimper. "He's hungry. I need to feed him."
Marc's crafty yellow eyes went to her breasts with a lascivious leer.
"He's weaned," she said coldly. "I have to fix some solid food—in the kitchen."
"I'm a mite hungry myself. Why don't you see what's out there, Maman?" he replied as he walked into the hallway with an expansive gesture toward the kitchen..
Lissa and Clare rose and preceded Marc down the hall. Outside Lissa could still hear Cormac's low growls. If only there were some way to loose him into the house. But both Germaine and her son were armed. Her mind raced. The gun case was in the library, but there was no way to reach it.
"As soon as your men come to report on the Indian, have them shoot that brute," Germaine said to Marc.
He laughed. "You always did hate that dog. I'll finish him after I eat."
Not for a moment did Lissa deceive herself into believing that once they had half the ranch they would not kill Johnny and her for the rest. She had seen the venom in Germaine's eyes when the old woman glared at Jess's son. Oh, Jess! Think, Lissa, think! He could be lying somewhere out on the deserted plains, shot, dying. She had to act now.
They entered the kitchen, and Germaine inspected it with as much disdain as Queen Victoria viewing a minstrel show. "I will hire my own cook." She walked over to the cabinet beside the pump and reached for the bottle of whiskey inside.
"Put it back, Maman. You need all your wits about you now," Marc commanded.
Lissa looked at him, momentarily stunned. The tone of his voice, the imperious command reminded her of her father. Could this monster actually be her brother?
Germaine pursed her lips angrily but did as he told her.
Lissa fired up the stove and put a pot of water on to boil, then opened the cannister filled with rolled oats. "Just a little while, Johnny," she said softly, motioning for Clare to sit down with him on a chair near the wall, out of the way. She searched the cabinet and pulled out a small bottle of tonic. "For his teething," she explained and leaned over to rub a bit on his gums. As she did so, she whispered to the maid, "Get ready to duck into the pantry—fast."
Germaine had pulled out a slab of bacon from the pantry, conveniently leaving the door ajar as she brushed past Clare. She took the meat to the table and selected a knife, then began slicing it. Carrying the knife with her, she approached the stove with a skillet filled with bacon and placed it on the front plate.
Soon it was sizzling, and the water had come to a full rolling boil.
"Come fix your oatmeal for that brat. I cannot abide his whining," Germaine said to Lissa.
Lissa considered trying for the knife but decided against it. I can't match strength with a madwoman. She picked up the open cannister and approached the stove, then suddenly flung it at Germaine and seized the pot of boiling water, splashing it into Marc's face as he tried to grab her.
While his mother was temporarily blinded by the dry, powdery meal and he was screaming with his burned face, she raced to the kitchen door and opened it for Cormac.
The hound was across the porch and through the door before Clare and Johnny had the pantry door between them and the chaos erupting in the kitchen. Cormac leaped on Marc, knocking him to the floor before he could discharge his rim-fire Colt. Germaine, who had slid her pistol into the pocket of her skirt, was blinking, teary-eyed, as she extracted the weapon.
Spying the butcher knife she had dropped on the floor, Lissa ran to seize it, only to have the older woman shove the gun into her side before she could reach it. "Call him off or I'll kill you," she shrieked above her son's screams as he wrestled with the huge hound who was tearing at his gun arm, trying to reach his throat.
Rather than give up her only chance at freedom, Lissa gambled. She knocked Germaine's gun away from her side and reached up for the skillet handle on the stove. The gun went off, grazing Lissa's arm, but she brought the sizzling skillet tumbling down onto the Frenchwoman's head.
Cormac, hearing Lissa's involuntary cry when she was shot, abandoned Marc and turned on his mother. Stunned by the skillet and burned by the spattering grease, Germaine dropped her gun, which skidded across the floor. Ignoring her injuries, she lunged at Lissa with a screech of rage. The dog leaped between them.
Marc Channault seized his Colt and cocked it as he rolled up, heading for the pantry and Johnny. Just as he yanked the door open, a deadly voice from behind him yelled, "I'm here, Channault." Jess stood outlined in the kitchen door.
Marc Channault whirled and fired, but his shot went wild, blasting into the ceiling. Jess's bullet hit him squarely in the chest. He fell backward into the hallway.