by Jill Gregory
Rebeccah bit her lip. She found that her hands were shaking. He sounded so happy, so filled with affection for this woman who stood across from her, her gaze turned toward the window while Rebeccah read. Wordlessly Rebeccah handed the letter to Wolf and waited as he read it. She was struggling with her emotions. Fresh grief welled up in her for her father. Bear Rawlings had been many things, not all of them good, but to her he had always been the kindest, strongest, smartest, and most bighearted of fathers.
She saw Crystal McCoy wipe away a tear and knew instinctively that this demure, elegant woman missed him as much as she did.
“Well, that explains it,” Wolf muttered, handing the letter back to Crystal. He threw a hard glance at Rebeccah. “Some little joke. Too bad he never foresaw that it could cost his daughter her life.”
“Bear would never have done anything to endanger Rebeccah,” Crystal said quickly.
Rebeccah liked how she sprang to his defense.
“He thought of her in Boston as being so completely safe and far away and removed from everything wild and rough—I’m certain he never, ever dreamed this silly rumor would grow and become a threat to her. Or he would have ended it immediately.”
“Well, we have to end it now—somehow,” Wolf said grimly. “Mind if we take this letter with us, Miss McCoy?”
“Call me Crystal. And yes, please take it and use it however you can to put an end to all this. What else can I do to help?”
“You’ve done so much already.” Rebeccah smiled. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Stay in town and have supper with me,” Crystal implored, her velvety smile embracing them both. “The Emerson Hotel has the finest steak and potatoes in cattle country. Say you’ll join me.”
Rebeccah threw Wolf a hopeful, questioning glance.
“We have to eat.” He shrugged, still pondering how he could protect her from a lying boast that was bringing the worst scoundrels in the territory to her door. How the hell would he do it?
“You heard what the man said. We have to eat,” Rebeccah told Crystal and then grinned. “We’d be pleased and honored to join you.”
* * *
“You gotta eat,” Neely Stoner told Billy. He gave a mocking guffaw at the boy’s curt shake of the head. “What’s the matter—campfire grub not good enough for you? Well, you’ll get used to it.”
Billy only glared at him, trying to look as if he wasn’t afraid. But he was afraid. He was afraid of both of these men who had sprung out at him and Joey while they were hunting squirrels with Sam. The taller man had knocked Joey to the ground with one powerful blow, while the other one, the one who was always hanging around the saloon and visiting Miss Rawlings, shot Sam.
Billy tried not to think about Sam being dead. Sam had tried to protect him when Chance Navarro had scooped him up onto his horse and started riding off with him. But it had all happened so quickly, Sam couldn’t have stopped any of it. Why did Navarro have to shoot him?
Billy knew the answer to his own question. Because both Navarro and this tall, long-faced hombre with the curly tobacco-colored mustache were badmen. Evil men. The kind of men his father was sworn to go after to keep ordinary citizens safe.
Billy knew he wasn’t safe with men like these. They thought no more of snuffing out a human life than a dog’s—or a mosquito’s for that matter. Tears started behind his eyes. He was thinking about Sam.
Don’t, he ordered himself. Don’t cry. They’ll like that. You can’t let them see that you’re scared.
But he was too late. The one called Chance was grinning at him over his coffee cup, stretched out leisurely on the opposite side of the campfire.
“Don’t cry, boy,” he taunted in a soft voice. “You’ll come out of this all right. We’re not interested in you at all. We’re only hankering to get a certain lady’s attention.”
“Miss Rawlings? You’ve tried to do that—but she doesn’t pay much attention to you, does she? She likes me and my pa better.”
“You’d best hope she likes you well enough, kid,” the tall man warned, sitting down next to Billy and taking out his gun. He began to polish it with a cloth from his saddle pack, studying every angle and line of the Colt with a loving eye. “Or else you can say adios to your pa and Miss Rawlings and Powder Creek—forever. If Miss Rawlings don’t do exactly as we tell her, we’re going to shoot you full of holes and drop you down that ravine over there and let the buzzards eat you.”
He broke into raucous laughter, and Navarro let out an answering chuckle. Billy clenched his teeth.
“Go to hell,” he muttered, too angry to be scared anymore. “My pa is going to kill you both. And the buzzards’ll eat you.”
Both men sobered suddenly and regarded him with hard, stoic expressions. “Could be,” the tall man said slowly, and nodded. “But don’t bet on it, boy.”
Chance Navarro smiled coldly at him across the fire.
“Pray tonight, boy. Pray real hard. And maybe you’ll live to see your pretty Miss Rawlings again.”
He didn’t say I’d see Pa, Billy thought with a little choke of fear. He stared at Navarro, who was watching him smugly. Why doesn’t he think I’m going to see Pa?
Billy inched closer to the fire and closed his eyes. He hoped his gramma was watching over them. He and Pa and Miss Rawlings were going to need all the help they could get.
23
It was suppertime the next evening when Rebeccah and Wolf rode up the trail to her ranch. The quiet of early evening was descending. Barely a twig rustled or bird chirped as they dismounted before the little cabin and went inside.
Everything was just as neat and orderly as she had left it two days ago when she’d set out in the morning for the schoolhouse. Rebeccah could scarcely believe that so much had happened in the space of two days.
“Pack what you’ll need, and then we’ll go find Billy,” Wolf said after making a quick inspection of the bedroom to make certain no one had been inside. “You’re not spending one more night alone here.”
“What will the townsfolk say about my staying with you, Sheriff Bodine?” she teased, too happy with all that had happened between them to share his grim concern. “Honestly I do think you’re worrying more than is necessary. Russ, Homer, and Fred were the last members of the Rawlings gang. The only other person who seems to be after this imaginary mine is Neely Stoner.”
So safe did she feel now with Wolf that she even managed to speak the name without a tremor in her voice. But Wolf took her by the shoulders. “He’s the last man on earth I want you to have to tangle with. I’ve been making inquiries, and there’s no word yet on him passing through any towns in these parts. But I haven’t given up. He’s probably using a different handle these days. I’m going to find him, Rebeccah, and put an end to this once and for all. In the meantime I’m not taking no for an answer. You’re coming back to the Double B tonight.”
His kiss was rough and urgent, yet tender for all that. “Go pack,” he ordered softly, tracing her lips with his tongue.
“But I have a better idea,” she coaxed, her fingers sliding over the hard muscles of his back.
Wolf chuckled. “I’ll bet you do, sweetheart.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Why don’t you go and find Billy and bring him back here for supper? That will give me time to get my things together, and afterward we’ll all go back to the Double B together.”
Wolf glanced out the window. It was quiet. Too quiet. He had a strange feeling in his gut, but he couldn’t identify the cause. He felt a sudden urgency to see his son.
“All right, Rebeccah.” He kissed her quickly on the lips, wanting to linger, to hold her, and indeed to make love to her right here in this very parlor, on that horsehair sofa where she had bandaged his wound that first night and served him coffee. But he couldn’t stay now. He needed to find Billy.
“I’ll check at the Double B first to see if he’s there doing his chores. If not, I’ll try the Pritchards’ and the Bradys’. W
e’ll be back before you know it.”
“By then I’ll have fixed us all a special celebration supper. It might help break the news to him that he’s going to have a houseguest.”
“Not just a houseguest. A new mother.” Wolf’s arms felt deliciously strong as he wrapped them lovingly around her. He spoke against the fragrant cloud of her hair. “Someone more like a real mother to him than his own mother could ever have hoped to be. He’s one lucky hombre. We both are. And you and I, Miss Rawlings, are going to make it official just as soon as you can get yourself the prettiest wedding dress you ever imagined.”
“I’d happily marry you in this,” Rebeccah assured him, indicating her much-crumpled wool skirt and blouse, “but since you mentioned it, I did happen to spy the most heavenly mauve satin. It was in a mail-order catalog at Koppel’s, and—”
Rebeccah abruptly broke off. She threw herself joyously into his arms. “Oh, Wolf, I’m so happy!”
Never before had she even dreamed of happiness like this. Never before had the notion of settling down in one place with one man and his one young child sounded so delightfully wonderful to her.
“When I was a little girl,” she said slowly, “I moved around all the time. And every time that moment came for us to ride on, to run and rob and hide somewhere new, Bear used to tell me that I was like his little daisy—a hardy wild flower, he said, meant to be plucked from the earth and cast anyhow into the wind. ‘See where the wind takes you, Reb,’ he would tell me as he’d put me up in the saddle. It was a virtue in his mind—a strength—to be able to let the wind take you this way or that, never putting down roots or getting tied to an ordinary life. But now I see that he was as wrong about that as he was about other things,” she told Wolf quietly, her hands gently cupping his face. “I want to put down my roots, I want to be connected deeply and firmly to a life with you and Billy, here in Powder Creek. I don’t want to be blown this way or that anymore or ever to know that kind of ‘freedom’ again.”
“You never will. I’d never let you blow away,” Wolf told her, his arms tightening around her. “You’re far too precious.”
Their kiss lasted long, yearning moments. Finally, remembering about Billy, Rebeccah laughingly pushed him away. “Bring Billy back soon,” she urged. “Tell him I’m going to whip up some of those cheese biscuits he likes so well.”
She waited until Wolf had disappeared over the rise before she went to work in the kitchen mixing flour and milk and butter into a soft dough, humming a little and thinking about the chicken dumplings she would prepare while the biscuits were baking. ...
Then she saw the kitchen door opening.
“Wolf ...?” Rebeccah began, startled, her heart jumping into her throat, but when she saw who it was, her heart completely stopped.
“Howdy, Reb,” Neely Stoner said amiably, leering at her from beneath his grimy black Stetson. “No need to look so surprised. You knew I’d be here someday. I always come fer what I want—don’t you remember that?”
She went for the gun in her boot, but there was too little distance between them. Stoner dove at her and grabbed the derringer, twisting it easily from her grasp.
“You won’t be needing this, Reb,” he snarled, no longer even bothering with the sickening, subtle facade. The animal that he was had sprung out even as he leaped for her. He gave a mean, low laugh as he pocketed the derringer and pinned her arms to her sides. “Come on out to the barn,” he invited, panting into her ear. “I have something to show you, something you jest have to see.”
Gripped by terror, Rebeccah struggled wildly, but she was no match for Stoner’s strength. He locked an arm across her throat and tightened it until red dots quivered before her eyes. At the same time he forced her toward the kitchen door, out onto the porch, then across the yard to the barn.
It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Stoner suddenly released her and shoved her into a bale of hay. She heard her horses whickering nervously from their stalls.
Then came the scratch of a match, and a lantern was lit. A murky light swam out through the blackness, and Rebeccah saw Stoner only a few feet away wearing a wicked grin. He set the lantern down and came toward her. As Rebeccah shrunk back, he grabbed her arm, twisting it harder the more she tried to flinch away.
“Lookee over here, Reb. You’ve got company. Say hello to the kid.”
And looking, she saw Billy, trussed up with heavy rope in the back of an empty stall, with a silk neckerchief bound tightly across his mouth and an expression of hopeless fear in his wide, gray eyes.
“Billy!” With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, she wrenched free of Neely Stoner and shoved him backward. He fell over a crate of tools and went down with a crash. Rebeccah didn’t even bother to glance at him. She was already at Billy’s side, tearing the gag from his mouth.
“Billy, did he hurt you?” Horror choked her as the wet neckerchief fell away. Immediately she started struggling with the knotted rope at his wrists, but before she could budge them, a sharp blow knocked her backward.
“That wasn’t smart, Reb. Not smart at all. The kid stays jest like this until I say he can go. If you want to see him safe and take care of him—get him some grub, bandage his hurts, anything like that—there’s only one thing you have to do: Hand over those papers for that mine. If you don’t, you and the kid won’t leave this here barn alive.”
“His father will kill you for what you’ve done to him, you stupid bastard! Do you remember what Bear did to you that day? Wolf Bodine will make that beating look like a Sunday-school picnic in comparison when he gets hold of you, Stoner.”
He shook his head. “Your fancy sheriff won’t find me—or either of you,” he said, laughing softly again. “He’s got other things on his mind right now, Reb. My pard is making sure of that. Bodine’s going to be too busy to come looking for either of you for a while—and by then our business will be all settled.”
He suddenly drew his gun, pointed it at Billy’s head, and put his finger on the trigger. “Spill your guts, Reb. Or I’ll spill the kid’s brains all over this here damned barn.”
* * *
Chance Navarro had watched Wolf and Rebeccah ride back toward Powder Creek from a hidden ledge on Elk Hill. He waited until he saw that they were both headed toward the Rawlings ranch, and then, when they were safely past, he rode like hell for the Double B.
His palms itched with the fervent desire to carry out his plan. In fact he itched all over. It had been a long time since he’d done anything like this—too long. He could hardly wait to do it and watch it. But he couldn’t stay around for too long, Chance knew. He’d have to get out of sight and back to Rebeccah’s barn before all hell broke loose and people started coming from miles around. Damn, he wished he could watch it from beginning to end!
Chance no longer wore the dapper broadcloth suit, narrow black tie, and elegant derby that were familiar sights to the residents of Powder Creek. What good would it have done wearing that mask when he and Stoner grabbed the kid if he still had on his trademark gambler’s garb, a dead giveaway that that other kid might have recognized? No, since yesterday he’d shed his fine clothes for a red woolen shirt, plain trousers, a thick gray duster, gray sombrero, and black silk scarf. No one seeing him at a distance would recognize him as Chance Navarro, gambler dandy. He had thought of everything.
He rode right up to the Double B ranch house and went inside, smiling to himself.
As expected, no one was about. Every man in the area had joined the posse organized by the deputy, Ace Johnson, and Culley Pritchard to hunt down the men who’d taken the sheriff’s boy. There was a note nailed to the front door for Wolf Bodine. Telling him there was trouble—telling him to come to the Pritchards’ or the Bradys’ or Mayor Duke’s house when he got home and find out what had happened while he was gone.
Navarro whistled as he strolled into Bodine’s house.
Nice place. Everything clean and cozy and pleasant.
Too bad it was going to burn.
He went up the stairs, glanced in at the boy’s bedroom, and then the one that had belonged to the old lady. He went at last to the room that belonged to Wolf Bodine.
He stared at the oak-framed bed and wondered if Rebeccah Rawlings had ever lain in it.
His eyes shone with scorn. The woman was a fool. She had chosen to place her trust in a dull small-town sheriff instead of hooking up with the gaiety and excitement he would have offered her. She had chosen Wolf Bodine over him. She didn’t deserve a silver mine. She didn’t deserve to breathe. She was just as stupid and ignorant as all the others.
Chance went over to that bed and closed his eyes, trying to summon up the image of Rebeccah Rawlings lying there with Wolf Bodine. Oh, yes, he could see it. He could see them together in this very bed, the springs creaking as she laughed about how she had spurned him, keeping her little secrets from him, sending him away night after night with nothing but an occasional good-night peck, while she let Wolf Bodine do whatever he wanted. ...
“You made a mistake, Miss Rebeccah Rawlings,” Chance whispered to the silent, empty room. “A very big mistake.”
He took the box of safety matches out of his pocket and, smiling, set to work. The magical fire sprang to life before his glowing eyes, and he threw the box of matches onto the bed.
He watched for a few precious moments as the sparks caught, grew, burst into beautiful shooting orange flames.
A glorious shudder went through him, and he laughed aloud.
Lovely. Prettier than any sunset he’d ever seen. Prettier than any woman he’d ever known. A fine, beautiful fire.
The sight of it took his breath away.
He turned and ran lightly down the stairs and out the door, hoping Bodine came home in time to see it. With any luck the sheriff would try to rush inside and save some of his possessions—family photographs maybe, or the old lady’s jewels—would get trapped ... and die.