Whirlwind Secrets

by Debra Cowan

  The warmth from his torso and the hand on her flesh sent out heat like a furnace. She told herself to focus on him rather than the agony in her body.

  Suddenly there was a pounding on the hotel’s front doors. The sound was muffled, but audible. As was the strong male voice that called out, “Russ? What’s going on?”

  “That’s Ef.” He glanced at Naomi. “Would you hold this steady? I’ll be right back.”

  Naomi took over and he stepped out of his office. After a moment, Lydia heard the low murmur of masculine voices. First Russ’s, then one she didn’t recognize. The words shot and blood were all she could understand.

  Keeping an eye on the door, she whispered to Naomi, “Do you think that poor woman was the one we were expecting?”

  The telegram Lydia had received a couple of days ago, using agreed-upon code words, had served as notice of their first arrival.

  Before her friend could do more than nod, Russ strode back into the room.

  “The nearest doc is eight miles away at Fort Greer. Ef, the blacksmith, is going for Whirlwind’s nurse then he’ll fetch the sheriff.”

  “There’s no need for a nurse,” Lydia protested. “Naomi can take care of me.”

  “Catherine’s trained,” Russ said stubbornly. “No offense, Miz Jones.”

  “None taken.” She gave Lydia an uncertain look.

  She knew Naomi didn’t want to draw any undue attention to them and Lydia shouldn’t do so, either. The safest and probably quickest thing to do would be to let Russ do as he wished.

  The other woman relinquished her place and Russ took over again, pressing firmly on the towel. Lydia bit back a moan. She knew he was trying to be gentle.

  Her mind raced, the injury throbbing now. “Is that woman really dead?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he said quietly, his blue eyes intent on her. “Did you know either of them?”

  She couldn’t meet his gaze. “No.”

  That wasn’t strictly a lie. She wasn’t sure if the dead woman was the one who’d been expected to arrive the following night.

  Lydia tried to blink back tears. Seeing that woman’s bruises, her lifeless body, brought back images of Isabel. Lydia’s sister had died the same way, trying to run from a man who beat her.

  The dead man had claimed to be Minnie’s husband. He’d followed her here, apologized and cajoled in an effort to get her to return home. Even if he hadn’t known that the place his wife sought shelter was a stop on the secret network for abused women, he could’ve told others she’d been headed to Whirlwind.

  And Russ had killed the man, unwittingly protecting Lydia’s secret. Protecting her.

  She wanted to tell him the truth, but she couldn’t. People’s lives depended on her silence. She hadn’t been able to save her sister, but she could save others like Naomi and the battered woman now lying dead in the hotel’s lobby.

  “How’re you doing?” Russ’s face held sympathy and concern. “Want something to drink? Water? Brandy?”

  She would love a brandy or anything that might dull the searing agony knifing up her arm, but she had to keep her wits about her. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Frowning, he sat on the bed keeping careful pressure on the wound with one hand. His other rested beneath Lydia’s elbow, supporting her arm.

  He lifted the towel to peer closely at the gash then let his gaze wander over her. This close, he could see the shadowy tips of her breasts beneath her gown. Russ broke out in a sweat, struggled to force his thoughts back to the problem.

  She could’ve been shot in the chest instead of the arm. Killed. He replayed the incident in his mind. The gunman had fired on his wife, and even though Russ had his revolver trained on the man, the stranger had aimed for Lydia. Why?

  “Russ?”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a beautiful, black-haired woman in the doorway and exhaled in relief. “Catherine. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Expecting and barely showing, she moved gracefully into the room, carrying a leather satchel. The skirts of her gray-and-white day dress swirled around her feet. Her straight black hair was pulled back with a kerchief, concern plain in her blue eyes. “Ef told me what happened.”

  He stood and gestured to the woman in his bed. “This is my new partner, Lydia Kent, and her maid, Naomi Jones. Ladies, this is Catherine Blue.”

  He stood aside to let Catherine examine the wound. As she began to clean it with a mixture of carbolic acid and water, Lydia hissed in a breath. She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped Naomi’s hand.

  Russ watched Lydia. She had said she didn’t know either of the dead people, but Russ couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew something.

  He wasn’t sure she was involved in what had happened in the lobby, but his gut said she was. It also told him to stay, so he was staying. No woman was ever going to blindside him the way Amy had. Russ might want to wash his hands of Lydia Kent, but until he figured out if something was going on, he was planting roots in the hotel.

  Chapter Three

  A couple of evenings later, Russ sat in his office with his brother and Ef. They had come back with him after speaking to Sheriff Holt again about the shootings. Davis Lee was still trying to find out if the man and woman who’d been killed in the hotel lobby had connections to anyone in Whirlwind.

  The gaslight flickered off then back on. Russ shot a look at Matt, who was once again playing with the fixture just inside the door.

  His black-haired brother was an inch shorter than his six foot five and a year younger than his thirty-one years. Matt peered closely at the gas-lit sconce, as fascinated as Russ with the newfangled light. “Noticed you finally got the glass for the third floor.”

  “Not me. Miz Kent.”

  “Is that so?” Sitting in a chair on the other side of Russ’s desk, Ef’s dark eyebrows rose. “How’d she manage that?”

  Russ explained about her deal-making in Abilene.

  His brother grinned. “She bested you? Now I really have to meet her.”

  He grunted, shooting a look at Ef when the blacksmith chuckled.

  Matt leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb. “How’s her arm? Ef said she was shot in that ruckus the other day in the hotel.”

  “Catherine put in a few stitches.” Russ flashed back to the way Lydia had bitten her lip and how all the blood had drained out of her face. He’d offered to let her bite down on his razor strap, but she held on tight to Naomi and only a couple of moans escaped. “Miz Kent seems to be getting along fine.”

  “Word is all over town that she’s one handsome woman.”

  “She is,” Russ said. “Seems to have a good head for business, too. She contracted with Pearl to make desserts for the hotel.”

  A look of admiration crossed his brother’s face as he ambled over to Russ’s desk. “Involving Whirlwind’s restaurant owner is real smart. Now Pearl will know y’all aren’t going to try and steal her customers. Plus she’ll have a stake in seeing The Fontaine succeed. I think I’ll stay in town tonight and meet Miz Kent.”

  Russ didn’t want that. Matt would ask her to dinner or to go for a walk or try to steal a kiss. For cryin’ out loud! Russ wasn’t even sure he liked the woman, so why did he care if his brother made her acquaintance?

  He leaned back in his leather chair and propped both feet up on his desk. “You’ve been gone all week to the Stockraisers’ Association meeting. Don’t you need to get to the ranch?”

  Dragging a hand down his face, Matt nodded. “I reckon. Pa said he didn’t need me, but you and I both know he still has trouble getting around.”

  The constant guilt he carried snarled in Russ’s gut. Dr. Butler from Fort Greer had said Pa was lucky. The accident could’ve cost him his life.

  Russ was just relieved the doctor held out hope for a good recovery. Pa had been stringing fence down the side of a gully and fallen onto a protruding tree branch, impaling his thigh. He’d nearly bled to death before Matt and their neighbor, Bram Ross, had fou
nd him.

  Stringing that fence had been Russ’s job. If he had been doing what he was supposed to and not mattress dancin’ with one of the girls over in Abilene, his pa never would’ve been in that gully. Never would’ve nearly died.

  He shifted his thoughts back to his brother. “Did you find out if any cattle in other counties are being rustled?”

  “Yeah, a few ranches up and down the border of Taylor and Callahan counties have lost stock.”

  “The same kind of cattle?”

  “No. From what I’ve learned, no one except Pa is experimenting with that crossbreed of Hereford and longhorn. All the other cattle being stolen are longhorns. I figure ours and the Ross’s stock are being rustled because we’re two of the biggest outfits around here. The same’s true for the ranches in Callahan County.”

  The Ross family of the Circle R were their closest neighbors as well as longtime friends. Russ knew Jake Ross, his brother, Bram and their uncle Ike had been working as diligently as Matt to catch the thieves.

  “When I talked to Pa yesterday, he said we’d lost more than a hundred.” Before the rustling, J.T. had planned to repay the banknote with money from the sale of the cattle, but being short so many head meant the loan couldn’t be paid even if they got top dollar for the cattle they did sell.

  Matt exhaled loudly and started for the door. “Which means I really should go on to the ranch.”

  Russ and Ef rose to follow.

  Matt glanced over his shoulder. “Had any lookers to buy your share of the hotel?”

  “One. I received a wire this morning from a Chicago businessman who’s ready to deal.” Russ had gone looking for Lydia several hours ago to tell her, only to learn she’d taken a buggy out for a drive. With the killings still fresh on his mind, his letting her know about the potential sale had been pushed out of his thoughts.

  He and the other two men crossed the lobby, heading for the open front doors.

  “If Miz Kent’s as pretty as they say, it’s a shame you’ll be giving her up as a business partner,” his brother said.

  “There’s more to her than looks.”

  “What matters more than that?”

  Ef chuckled.

  Grinning, Russ said, “Something about her makes me wonder what’s going on in that head of hers.”

  Matt’s gaze turned sharp. “Since when do you care what goes on in a woman’s head?”

  He didn’t. Not since Amy. Russ wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “Since I partnered up with Lydia Kent. She sued a fella because he wouldn’t marry her.”

  Ef’s and Matt’s eyes went wide, and they both halted in midstride.

  “Sued? ’Cuz he wouldn’t get hitched?” Ef asked in a low voice.

  “They were engaged, but the man changed his mind. She sued him for breach of promise and won.”

  “Over that!”

  Russ understood Matt’s shock. “Evidently, she’s not too forgiving about some things.”

  Ef shook his head. “If some man didn’t want to marry her, you’d think she might want to keep that quiet.”

  “She probably wanted to get back at him for humiliating her,” Russ said.

  “Or show him that she didn’t need him,” Matt said darkly.

  Russ glanced at his brother. “You thinking about Annalise?”

  At the mention of the woman who’d broken his heart when she’d left him behind years ago, Matt’s blue eyes went flat and his face closed up. “Anything you want me to tell Pa?”

  “Nah. I’ll have time to come out to the ranch tomorrow.”

  Russ continued with the men to the front doors. Matt lifted a hand in farewell then walked outside with the blacksmith.

  As Russ closed the doors, a soft voice came from behind him. “Mr. Baldwin?”

  He turned to find Naomi Jones on the other side of the staircase. “Miz Jones, how are you?”

  “Fine, thank you.” A dark kerchief covered her hair and a white apron draped smoothly over a blue calico dress. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m worried. Lydia—Miss Kent hasn’t returned from her buggy ride.”

  Russ frowned. It would be dark soon. “Maybe she stopped off somewhere in town?”

  “No, if she were back, she would have come straight here.”

  She had been gone a long time. After the shootings in the lobby, Russ could see why Lydia’s maid was so concerned. He hoped nothing bad had happened. “I’ll ride out and look for her.”

  “Thank you.” Relief shone in the woman’s coffee-colored eyes.

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “No, but I know she headed west.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll find her.” He hoped she was in one piece when he did.

  “Thank you again.” With a small smile, the woman started up the wide sweep of stairs.

  He turned and went to his office to strap on his gun and holster, then strode out the back of the hotel and across to the livery where he’d left his gelding for the night. Heading west out of town, he kept his mount to a lope. He hoped he could find Lydia before it was full dark. And he hoped nothing had happened to the woman. Not three days ago, two people had been killed in their hotel and she’d been winged, yet here she was, going out past town.

  He covered ground quickly as twilight settled over the land. After about two miles, he spotted a dark boxy shape in the knee-high grass. A buggy.

  Relief eased the band of tension across his chest he hadn’t realized was there. Giving his horse a little kick, Russ cantered toward the vehicle as a shape separated itself from the shadows. Just as he started to call out, he heard the snick of a gun being cocked.

  “Stop!”

  Yep, that smoky voice was hers. “Miz Kent?”

  “Mr. Baldwin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I could’ve shot you!”

  “Glad you didn’t.” At least she had brought her gun. He rode closer, and she stepped away from the carriage and into the moonlight. Now he was able to see the sleek curve of her body, the brief glint of silver as she released the hammer on her weapon and lowered it. “Good to see you know how to use that.”

  She placed the derringer on the buggy’s seat and rested a hand on the horse’s rump. “What are you doing out here?”

  He wanted to ask her the same thing. “Miz Jones was worried because it’s so late and you hadn’t returned. She asked me to look for you. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  Russ dismounted, noting that her hair was mussed, strands slipping out of the long dark braid hanging down her back. Her wide-brimmed hat hung there, too.

  “I’m sorry to have worried her.” She bent and lifted the horse’s left back leg. “This mare picked up a rock or something in one of her hooves. She’s limping.”

  Russ scanned the prairie, a blanket of shadow and silver light across night-dark tops of high grass, the dip of hills. Everything appeared quiet. “How long has she been hobblin’?”

  “I noticed it a few minutes ago and stopped. After I checked her, I planned to unhitch her and lead her back to town.”

  He walked over and gently edged Lydia aside to examine the mare. There was nothing in the left front hoof, but when he ran his fingers lightly over the hoof of her right front leg, he touched a chunk of rock. He worked it out, murmuring softly to the horse.

  Lydia’s lavender scent was faint, but detectable beneath the stronger smells of horseflesh and grass.

  “Her other hooves are fine,” he said. “But it’s still a good idea to let her follow instead of pull the buggy.”

  Lydia nodded, detaching the closest rein as Russ helped un-harness the animal. He noticed she favored her wounded arm.

  “You okay?”

  She glanced up then saw where he looked. “Oh, yes, thank you.”

  In the amount of time Lydia had been gone, she could’ve driven to Abilene and back, so where the hell had she been? What had she been doing? “You get lost? I came looking for you right after lunch. You’ve been go
ne quite some time.”

  “Yes, I was lost,” she admitted quickly.

  So quickly that he wasn’t sure he believed her. The way she answered made him think she was only agreeing so he wouldn’t ask more questions. Russ didn’t care for women who appeared to be keeping secrets, whether they were or not. “You’re not that far from Whirlwind, about two miles. Good thing I came along. You might’ve been out here all night.”

  “Hardly. The mare knows the way back.”

  True. So, why hadn’t Lydia let the horse guide them back before now? He stepped the animal away from the rig and slipped off the bridle, switching it with that of his gelding. His horse wasn’t buggy-broke, but he’d do fine for the distance back to town.

  While Russ unsaddled his mount, Lydia secured hers to the back of the vehicle. After hitching up his gelding, Russ put his saddle and gear on the lame mare. He helped Lydia into the buggy and climbed in beside her. Buggies didn’t comfortably accommodate a man his size unless special made. As a result, Miz Kent was pressed tight between her side of the carriage and him.

  Russ folded down the leather hood so he could sit up straight and not feel as squeezed in as a calf in a pen. Except the problem wasn’t all due to a lack of space. The woman sitting next to him—almost on top of him—had him feeling bridled.

  He couldn’t escape her light scent. When she shifted, her breast brushed his arm and he had a sudden flash of her wearing nothing but him, his face buried in her dark, sweet-smelling hair. His jaw clamped tight.

  He snapped the reins against the gelding’s rump and the buggy lurched into motion. Russ noted Lydia hadn’t been frightened when he’d found her, only cautious. The feel of her arm and shoulder burned into his side. And he couldn’t understand why, out here on the open prairie, all he could smell was the lavender sweetness of woman. “Just how far did you ride?”

  “A few miles west and south.”

  “There are two ranches in that area.” The Circle R, Jake Ross’s place and Riley Holt’s ranch, The Rocking H. “You should’ve stopped and asked for directions back to town.”