by Debra Cowan
“My pa,” he gritted out. “Who killed him? It looked like someone bashed his head in with a rifle.”
“That was Pettit.”
“And my ma?” The thought that Ruby may have died as violently as Earl made Bowie’s gut knot up like bad rope.
“I think she was dead when the wagon hit the canyon floor. Pettit said she broke her neck, but I’m not sure. He was down there for a minute or two before Huck and I reached him.”
Bile rose in Bowie’s throat and a black fury threatened to overtake him. Shaking with the force of his anger, he tried to shut down the emotion, tried to narrow his focus to just the questions.
“Start talking. I want to know everything. How you came to be hired. Who hired Pettit and why. Everything. Even things you don’t think relate or might be important. All of it.”
The other man bristled. If he decided he didn’t want to talk, Bowie had a bullet that could likely change his mind.
“All right,” Saul bit out.
The throaty croak of a bullfrog sounded from across the creek as Saul began to speak.
Merritt thought she had cried herself out, but seeing Bowie an hour ago had brought on more tears. After she cleaned up the supper dishes, Lefty and Mr. Wilson left to attend a meeting of all residents at the town hall to discuss forming a fire company. Merritt didn’t have it in her to go.
Instead, she was stripping the linens from all the beds in preparation for laundry day tomorrow. If Bowie didn’t trust her—and it was plain he didn’t—then good riddance.
So why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Wanting him? Wishing he would believe her?
She understood the shock he must have felt upon seeing his mother’s necklace. And the pain it must have stirred up. She’d dealt with it herself on a smaller scale. His mother had been her friend, after all. Which made his suspicions of her even harder to bear.
Merritt knew she had hurt him, too. She couldn’t erase the image of the raw pain and regret that had flared in his eyes when she had given him her notes from Saul so that Bowie could confirm her foster brother’s handwriting.
She would have to ask Bowie to move out of the Morning Glory. She absolutely couldn’t live in the same house with him. And even though the two of them remaining in the same town was daunting, she wasn’t leaving. She’d made a home here. And unless he resigned his position, he would be here for at least the next four years.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t take that long to solve his parents’ murders. Saul could be the key to that. She hoped he showed up at his meeting with Bowie, or the marshal would never believe her again. Not that it mattered, she told herself. Not anymore. Things were over between them.
She repeated that to herself when she walked into his room to change the sheets. A light breeze blew through the open window. Though it was faint, she could smell the mix of his dark masculine scent and her softer one in the linens, flooding her mind with images of the two of them on the bed last night. Naked.
Her throat closed up. The way he’d touched her, looked at her, had made her believe his feelings were the same as hers and that their being together was the beginning of a future. She’d been wrong.
Earlier, he had said he had feelings for her. So why had he ruined things between them? The hollow regret in his eyes made her wonder if she should give him—them—another chance. But he had hurt her deeply. How strong could his feelings be if he already doubted her?
She yanked the sheets off the mattress and crammed them into the big wash basket. Just as she spread a clean one on the mattress, she heard a sound behind her.
She turned, faltering when she saw Hobbs. Sudden panic and a desperate wish for Bowie to return tangled inside her. So far, she had managed to keep the former marshal from knowing her true feelings about him, so she tried to smile. “Tobias, how are you?”
“I’m fine. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
Uneasy now, she kept her voice light, pleasant. “Oh? I’m surprised you aren’t at the town meeting to discuss the new fire company.”
“This is more important.” A dark tone beneath the words made them sound vaguely threatening.
Her thoughts raced. Her pistol was in her bureau drawer. It was a good guess that neither of Bowie’s guns were here; he would have taken them to his meeting with Saul.
She didn’t want to think she would need a gun, but her disquiet grew, edged into mouth-drying fear when the man in front of her pulled something out of his vest pocket and held it up. Her white handkerchief with her initials embroidered in red, white and blue.
Merritt’s breath backed up in her lungs. He had found it, had kept it all this time.
“Recognize this? I know you do.” His tone was almost conversational. “It was on the floor of my house.”
Palms clammy, she swallowed hard. “I lost that in town the night of the Fourth of July celebration.”
“Not town,” he said. A sly smile spread across his handsome face. “In my house.”
She started to deny it, but she could tell by the cold look in his eyes that he wouldn’t believe her.
“I couldn’t figure out what you could possibly be doing in there, so I began watching you.”
“Watching me!” Bowie must not have known or he would’ve done something about it.
“Tonight, after your boarders left, I saw a man slip inside your back door, then slip back out.”
Saul. She fought down a swell of panic, trying to remain calm.
“I didn’t recognize him, but I saw a scar on his arm. In the exact place Addie Cahill described cutting one of the hooded outlaws that she and Quin had a run-in with. I know it’s the same man. What I don’t know is your connection to him.”
Merritt clamped her mouth shut tight.
“I don’t care what your relationship is with him, but I’m guessing you know what he’s done, and therefore you know why I’d like to talk to him.”
Talk? Hobbs had no intention of talking to her foster brother. Kill was a more accurate word.
“I want you to take me to him.”
Her head jerked up. She was not going to help Hobbs kill Saul. “What makes you think I know where he is?”
“Oh, you know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have just turned as pale as milk. Besides, in the past twenty-four hours, he’s been here three times. You know where he is.”
She blanched. Just as she started to deny it, she realized that Bowie might still be at Triple Creek with Saul. If so, he could take care of Hobbs. At the very least, he could arrest the former marshal for kidnapping, and maybe keep him in jail until Bowie could prove Hobbs had murdered Earl and Ruby.
“I’m not sure where he is, but I have an idea.” She didn’t have to fake the unsteadiness in her voice.
The thought of going anywhere with Tobias had her nerves winding tight.
Eyes glinting dangerously, he pulled a revolver from behind his back and motioned her toward him. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to, so don’t try anything.”
She nodded, walking with him down the stairs. His gun drilled into her ribs as he steered her to the back door. They stepped onto the back stoop.
His sorrel mare waited patiently. Hobbs quickly tied Merritt’s hands and tossed her into the saddle. She slid sideways and he vaulted up behind her, settling her in front of him. The pommel bit into her thigh.
“You struggle, make any noise, try to kick me, I’ll put a bullet in your friend the second I see him.”
Nodding, Merritt fought to keep her composure. She would do her part to get Hobbs to Triple Creek.
She prayed Bowie was still there to do the rest.
“So, two years ago, Hobbs hired Pettit to kill my parents and Pettit enlisted you and Huck Allen to help.” Bowie wanted to make sure he had everything straight.
Saul nodded. “Yes, but we were told the job was a robbery. We were to stop the wagon. We did, but instead of holding a gun on your parents and demanding their goods, Pettit ran them off the road ove
r into Ghost Canyon. When Huck and I got down there, Pettit had just killed your pa. Bashed in his head.”
It didn’t matter how many times Bowie heard about it; he still wanted to kill Hobbs. And Pettit. And the man in front of him.
Saul hesitated, then said, “Your ma was already dead. That’s when I took her necklace.”
“My brother Quin was falsely accused of killing Pettit. Who really killed him?”
“Hobbs.”
“Why?”
“Pettit got it in his head to blackmail Hobbs for having your parents killed. If he didn’t pay up, Pettit threatened to tell.”
“So, Pettit wasn’t the one who sent a note to my brother offering the truth about our parents’ deaths in exchange for money?”
“No. Hobbs did that. He told Pettit to meet him here at Triple Creek and he would pay him the money he’d demanded to keep quiet. Then Hobbs sent a note to your brother, offering information.”
“He was planning to take care of both of them by killing Pettit and framing Quin for it.”
“Yes. Pettit didn’t trust Hobbs, so he wanted me and Huck to go along, hide in the trees during their meeting so Hobbs wouldn’t know we were there.”
Smart move on Pettit’s part, Bowie acknowledged.
“Pettit went to meet Hobbs and asked what was going on. Instead of answering, Hobbs shot him. Your brother must have arrived just before we did. We came up the back side of those trees over there.” He pointed behind Bowie, across the width of another creek. “Your brother was laid out, unconscious when we got here.
“Huck and I were in shock. Before we could move, we heard someone else ride up. Hobbs hightailed it out of there and so did we.”
That someone had been Addie, Bowie knew. Hobbs, Allen and Bream were the three men she had heard leaving the scene when Quin had come up next to Pettit’s dead body.
“Then what?” he asked. “Did you and Allen decide to blackmail Hobbs, too?”
“Hell, no. Neither of us wanted to poke that bear after what had happened to Pettit.”
“So, you sent a second note to my brother, offering information in exchange for money.”
Saul nodded. “We would’ve told him everything we knew, except his woman showed up instead of him. We weren’t going to hurt her, but your brother rode in and drew down on both of us. Huck grabbed her, using her as a shield to try and get away. As I was going for the money, your brother plugged Huck with two to the gut.”
“And you ran?” Bowie couldn’t keep the contempt out of his voice.
“I tried. That woman nearly cut off my hand. As it was, she got me on the arm and the neck.”
That definitely matched the story both Addie and Merritt had told. “And since then, it’s just been you?”
“Yes. I was going to ride on, but I couldn’t. I was afraid to spend any of that money, for fear of bringing suspicion on myself.”
Saul had no way of knowing that Quin hadn’t told anyone outside the family about the money he had lost. It was a good thing Bowie’s brother had done so, because Saul staying had led Bowie to Hobbs.
“I felt bad about what we’d done. I never signed on for murder.”
“So, you contacted Merritt and confessed?”
“Yes. She gave me some food and offered me a place to stay. I should’ve left the area then, but I couldn’t.” A wistful look crossed his face. “Sometimes, I wish I could be as good as she thinks I could be.”
Bowie knew all about disappointing Merritt. He hated himself for doing it. “Do you know why Hobbs wanted to murder my parents? He stood to gain nothing from their deaths.”
“I don’t know that the idea began with Hobbs. Pettit said someone hired the marshal, the former marshal, to get rid of the Cahills, but I don’t know who. Pettit didn’t know, either.”
So, someone else was involved. Huck Allen hadn’t lied when he had told Quin that he had no idea how deep the scheme against the Cahills went.
The former marshal didn’t stand to gain anything directly by murdering Ma and Pa. No land, no money, no livestock. His compensation had likely been money.
“Does Hobbs have any idea who you are?”
“Pettit told him there were three of us who knew Hobbs had hired Pettit to kill the Cahills.”
“And now you’re the only one left.”
Saul nodded.
“Your smartest, safest bet is to turn yourself in.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.”
“If you cooperate, I’ll make sure the judge knows you helped me catch Hobbs.”
“All right—”
Saul broke off, his gaze jerking to Bowie. “Did you hear something?”
“Voices. I thought you said you weren’t expecting anyone.”
“I’m not,” Saul whispered.
Neither was Bowie. He looked around for cover. Both he and Saul were exposed in this clearing.
The outcrop of rock behind him was his best bet and he began to back that way. Saul retreated toward the trees from which he’d come.
“I said sometimes he comes here,” said a feminine voice. “I never said he was here all the time.”
Merritt! Bowie’s gaze shot to Saul. The alarm on the other man’s face said he had heard and recognized her voice, too.
Why in the hell would she be coming out here? Who was she with? Whoever it was made her anxious. Bowie could read that in her voice.
He thumbed down the hammer of his Colt. He would have maybe two seconds to react by the time Merritt and her companion came around the last stand of trees before the landscape gave way to the clearing.
His muscles drew tight. Finger on the trigger, he leveled his weapon, waiting. Saul did the same.
Bowie listened closely. The movement through the tall grass out beyond the trees sounded like only one horse. Apprehension hammered at him.
Suddenly, Merritt called out, “Saul, are you here?”
Bowie sent a look to the man. Don’t answer.
He nodded to show he understood.
Bowie registered the trembling in her voice just before he spied a horse’s head. Reddish-brown.
The animal stepped into view and Bowie saw Merritt. A man’s arm was clamped around her middle; the edge of a hat peeked out from behind her. A man’s hat. A bowler hat.
It was Hobbs! And he had a gun drilled into her temple.
Chapter Fifteen
Everything folded together in one frozen moment.
“Let her go!” Bowie yelled.
“Put down your weapon!” Hobbs bellowed at the same time. “I will shoot her.”
“I’ll drop you if your finger so much as twitches on that trigger.”
“Hobbs!” Saul hollered, drawing the ex-marshal’s attention.
Bowie kept his gaze steady on Hobbs, who swung his gun toward Saul and fired. Then fired again.
Saul cried out and stumbled, then fell.
Merritt screamed. Bowie hadn’t taken his eyes off Hobbs, who held Merritt locked against him. He didn’t have a clear shot, especially when Hobbs pulled her even farther across his chest.
The bastard ducked down behind her right shoulder and turned his gun on Bowie. Except for the arm clamped across Merritt’s middle, only Hobbs’s hat and eyebrows were visible.
Bowie cursed. All he needed was an inch, one damn inch, and he could blow the bastard to hell.
Hobbs fired and Bowie hit the dirt, scrambling through a nearby bush. His gelding jumped, wheeling behind the rock.
Another shot rang out, but it came from the trees at Bowie’s back. Higher up than they were. Merritt screamed again. Then silence.
The acrid smell of gunpowder hung in the air. Saul was on the ground, unmoving. Why wasn’t Hobbs shooting? Who the hell was in the trees?
Gun leveled, Bowie carefully peeked over the top of the bush and sighted Hobbs—who had pitched sideways off his horse and now lay motionless on the ground. On top of Merritt.
Bowie scrambled to his feet and was already running when
he heard a choked sob from her.
He jumped the creek, angling for the opposite bank. One of his boots slipped, landing him in the water. He grabbed a handful of dirt and grass, steadied himself, then clawed his way the short distance to solid ground.
The sound of Merritt’s sobs cut through him like a blade. Hobbs’s sorrel danced nervously several yards away from her. Bowie saw her struggling to get out from under Hobbs, who lay unmoving across her hips and legs.
Bowie reached her and went to his knees, shoving the ex-marshal’s body off her, then helping her sit up.
Crying, she fell against him, and Bowie gathered her close, burying his face in her neck. Sharp relief ached in his chest. Until he felt something sticky and warm.
He looked down, not registering at first that blood slicked his hand. Merritt’s blood.
His heart stopped. “Sweetheart?” he croaked. “Merritt, you’ve been hit. I need to look at you.”
“It hurts.”
“I know.” He kept one arm around her waist and pulled back slightly to examine her.
Blood covered her right shoulder, plastering the light blue fabric of her dress sleeve to her arm. She gave a moan that squeezed his chest hard.
The bullet had gone clean through her shoulder. And killed Hobbs. Who the hell had made that shot?
She looked at her bleeding wound and shuddered. Bowie stroked her hair.
“I need to get you to the doctor.”
“Saul? Is Saul dead?” She turned to look across the creek.
Her foster brother lay where he’d fallen and was groaning.
“He’s alive.” Bowie’s arm tightened around her.
Her breathing was labored, raspy with pain. “You got Hobbs.”
“Not me. A sniper.”
At the sudden pounding of hooves traveling away from them, Bowie and Merritt both looked west.
She eased away from him. “Go! Go after whoever that is. You can catch them.”
“What? No! You’re shot.”
“And it hurts, but I think the bullet went straight through.”
Yes. The shot had been deliberately placed, right through the ball of her shoulder to hit Hobbs dead center between the eyes. Bowie didn’t know anyone who could make a shot like that.